“Julie?” she calls from the kitchen. Before I can answer, she storms down the hall with a look relief on her face. “Where have you been all day?”
I take off my jacket. “I was at school. I thought I told you yesterday.”
“But why didn’t you answer my messages?” she asks.
“What messages?”
“I texted you last night. I even called.”
“You called me?” I don’t remember waking up to any notifications. The only person I’ve spoken to since last night was Sam. I check my phone again. “Are you sure? I never got anything from you.”
I hand her my phone to see for herself.
“Of course I’m sure,” she says, scrolling through it. “That’s so bizarre. I definitely texted you. Do you think it’s your phone? I guess it could be mine.”
“Maybe it’s the service.”
“Maybe…” my mother says, thinking. She hands me back my phone. “You know, no matter how smart they try to make these things, they never work.” She lets out a long breath.
“I’m sorry to worry you.”
“It’s alright,” my mother says. “I’m just glad you’re fine.” She takes my jacket from me, and hangs it on a hook on the wall. “Thankfully I noticed your backpack was gone this morning, so I figured you were at school. How late did you come home last night?”
“Oh—” My eyes shift to the floor. She doesn’t realize I never came home at all. “Not too late…” I say.
“You know, I could have given you a ride this morning.”
“I don’t really mind the walk.” I turn toward the stairs.
“Wait.” My mother stops me. “How was school? Is everything okay?”
I pause on the first step. “It was … fine,” I say without turning around.
“You don’t want to talk about it?”
“Maybe not this second. I’m a little tired.”
My mother nods. “Alright. You know I’m always here, Julie,” she says as I head upstairs. “But we should get your phone checked out soon! Mine, too, now that I’m thinking about it. I’ve had a suspicion that someone’s been trying to hack it. It’s probably been tapped. Then again—what isn’t these days … They’re probably recording everything we’re saying right now. Be careful!”
“I will!”
I shut the door behind me and look around the room. Everything’s exactly like I left it. I returned this morning from Sam’s house to change and grab my things before school. That’s why I was late to class. I didn’t mean to spend the night in his room, but I was so exhausted, and Sam told me it was okay. I haven’t spoken with him since then. I sit at the side of my bed, and take out my phone. We made plans to talk after school once I got home. I remember making him promise me he’d pick up again. Otherwise, I couldn’t fall asleep. I stare at the blank screen of my phone. While this rational part of me keeps thinking last night was all a dream, I look over and see his plaid shirt hanging on the back of my chair. On my desk is the other bookend he gave me last night. His Radiohead shirt is folded and tucked away in the middle drawer. I checked a second ago to make sure it was still there.
I check my phone. For some reason, Sam’s number doesn’t appear in the call history. I noticed this in the morning when I woke up. It’s as if there’s no record that it happened. There’s no way this could be all in my head, could it? How else would I have known about the key under the mailbox? I guess there’s only one way to be sure. I take a deep breath and dial Sam’s number. The sound of the ringing makes me tense. But it only rings twice before he picks up.
“Julie…”
The knots in my chest undo themselves, and I breathe easily again. “Sam.”
“You still sound relieved to hear me,” he says with a laugh. The warmth of his voice pulls me back to the beginning and it’s … like before.
“Can you blame me?” I whisper, as if someone might hear us. “I don’t expect you to pick up.”
“But I promised I would, didn’t I?”
I swallow my breath, taking his voice in like air. “I know you did … And that’s why I called back. But you realize how crazy this is, right? You are supposed to be gone…”
“What do you mean?” he asks.
My stomach hardens. I can’t tell if he’s being serious. He has to know what happened that night one week ago, right? The bonfire. The missed calls. The headlights on the road. There’s no possible way he and I should be talking on the phone again. I’m almost afraid to ask this. But I have to know. The words are heavy in my throat. “You died, Sam … You know that, don’t you?”